Hell on Earth

Chapter Four - Waterworks

I’m not a big crybaby, I swear. But, for the rest of the night, after my friendly little visitor, I wanted nothing more than to cry my lovely purple peepers out.

I already have enough bird shit on my head! I mentally wailed, feeling so much like a girl I thought I might puke up something pink with sparkles on it.

I mentally ticked off the list of my fucking lameshit life. Schizophrenia, insomnia, random sickness, fucked up visions, a cute girl who sees me as a science guinea pig, my asshole roommate who sees her as a nice piece of ass, which, frankly, I can’t deny seeing either, and now, because of my shit-so-phrenia, I see a vampire me.

I mean, it wasn’t going far to say I was a vampire. I burned in the sun. Not, you know, screaming and flesh melting from the bone. But, given the chance exposure to UV rays, I turned into some sort of extreme radiation survivor. Red, crispy and peeling. Hell, even my desklamp had burned me. That said something.

Something, though, about those red eyes…they were so evil. So filled with malice and hatred, not to mention some sort of sick and twisted amusement. Like the thing in my head found me to be some sort of big joke.

Well, aren’t you? I thought bitterly. I groaned quietly, dropping my head into my hands, feeling like my surroundings were spinning. I wanted nothing more than to punch someone in the face. I took deep breaths, trying my best to balance my raging mind and hoping to whatever god may be listening that my headache wouldn’t come around again. And, a teeny part of me hoped that, you know, the other me wouldn’t come back to play with my brain like it was a puppet on a string. Because, you know, that wasn’t my idea of a wonderful and entertaining evening. Maybe to someone else it would be – why not? Some crazy, strange-looking kid freaking out at the air and flipping his shit because he had a mental disorder, and who knows how long he’ll last before he has a full psychotic breakdown and never returns?

I wondered when my musings had returned to self-pity. You know, you’re always the life of the party.

I stood myself up, stiffly and painfully, not denying myself a quick look around to check the shadows for any glowing red eyes. C’mon, man, just take some more pills.

I was more than a bit troubled, though. I hadn’t actually…seen…anything before. I mean, yeah. I saw what I thought were people’s pasts on their faces and had incredibly violent visions, but I had never actually seen people who weren’t there.

I slumped down at my desk, flicking on the light and pinching my nose. Maybe, instead of schizophrenic, I’m actually a budding psychopath, I thought dryly. Who knows? Maybe I actually want to kill all those people, I’m not just imagining it or seeing someone else do it.

I thought, long and hard, for a moment. No, I don’t think so. That wouldn’t explain me seeing my own past. I sighed.

I had been told that seeing my past just meant it was suppressed memories. For some reason, probably because of my wack-job brain, they had been stuffed to the back of my mind.

That didn’t explain why I always say them from someone else’s point of view.

Fuck it. I’m pretty damn done trying to figure this out. I quit pinching my nose, pulling open my sketchbook and quickly flicking over the picture of Celeste’s face. Good god, I am a creeper.

On a fresh page, I started sketching. I tried to get my own portrait. I kept getting confused on it, though – something was wrong with my eyes and mouth. They looked too harsh, too cruel. I realized that I wasn’t drawing my face all of a sudden, instead, it was my visitor.